Would you Like to Solve Crimes? Take Two
by GoodShipSherlollipop
Summary: Sherlock has an idea to continue the scenario re-creatons between his wife and himself. He wants to share them with Molly, but she has other, more important things to do first. Pregnancy libido is a thing, after all. Sensual, but not explicit
1. Would You Like to Solve Crimes?

It was only a few days since Sherlock had done the re-creation of that fateful day when he and Molly had solved crimes together. He was sitting in his chair, thinking. Molly was on his lap, admiring her new ring enhancer which really did enhance the beauty of her heart-shaped engagement ring.

"You know, darling, seeing as how you love re-creating scenes from our past and rewriting them, I have a couple ideas if you want to hear them."

Molly stopped admiring her rings and looked at him. "Sounds intriguing. Go on."

Well..." he drawled the word. "One of them is actually from the same day as our new memory we created a few days ago."

"I'm not sure we can top that one, to be honest," she commented.

"Is that a challenge?"

"Maybe," she lowered her lashes and planted a kiss on his lips.

His arms tightened about her. "You need to stop sitting on my lap. It ties me up in knots. Then of course there's that added problem of you crushing my legs."

Molly glared at him.

"Bit Not Good, I suppose?"

"You're learning, Sherlock. Now apologize."

"I apologize that you are crushing my legs with the extra weight you have put on."

Molly raised her hand to slap him playfully, but he caught her wrist and kissed it. "I will not tolerate any spousal abuse, Mrs. Holmes." Then, extending her arm, he started kissing his way up it, over her jumper.

"You know I don't actually feel your kisses through the jumper don't you?" she remarked, arching a brow.

"Are you inviting me to take it off then?" he inquired with what he hoped was a very seductive look, and was rewarded by her lifting her arms so he could remove the jumper.

Wondering how far he could push it, this was usually the time when Molly stopped him from going further, he asked, not really sure of what to expect, "Blouse too?"

"I will allow you to unbutton and take it off."

At his surprised, yet delighted grin, she added pertly, "Pregnancy libido is a thing you know."

Sherlock wasted no time unbuttoning and removing her blouse as well.

He went to unclasp the last article of clothing on her upper half. When she made no move to stop him, he asked, "Why aren't you telling me off for distracting you this time?"

Molly began to unfasten his buttons. "Because, my darling husband, I am not the one who is trying to tell you something. You are the one trying to tell me about these new re-creation scenarios."

Her bra dropped to the floor, as he shrugged out of his suit jacket, then began to knead her shoulders so that she moaned. "The difference is, I am quite content to explain my ideas after we make love."

His mouth captured hers, as he began to kiss her passionately. Molly continued to make noises of pleasure against his mouth as he kept massaging her shoulders. She finally finished unbuttoning his shirt and slid it off his shoulders.

He would have pulled Molly against him, but her position sitting sideways on his lap made it rather difficult. Instead, he dropped one hand to possessively cup her breast. She gasped at his touch and he smiled. He loved that he affected her as much as she affected him.

"Bedroom?" he queried.

"Bedroom," she agreed breathlessly.

Sherlock placed one arm under Molly's legs and his other supported her under her back. Molly placed her arms round his neck. With an exaggerated groan he heaved to his feet, carrying his wife, bridal style to the bedroom.

Once there, he laid her down gently on the bed and joined her. He looked into her eyes for a few moments, not touching her, just drinking in the sight of her, seeing her heavy-lidded gaze. Then she was pulling him close, threading her fingers through his hair. She pressed as close to him as she could. It was getting decidedly harder for their chests to connect, now that her belly kept getting in the way.

He stroked Molly's abdomen and spoke softly to their unborn child. "You're not here yet, and you're already cramping my style." Then he kissed that beautiful evidence of their love.

"I hate to interrupt your bonding time with our child," spoke up Molly, "but I'm feeling a little neglected here."

"So demanding, Mrs. Holmes," murmured Sherlock. He trailed open mouthed kisses upwards from her abdomen to the underside of her breasts, then continued with little seductive licks and kisses above.

"Sherlock," she moaned, "kiss me, please."

He raised his head. "What do you think I've been doing?"

"Your lips, Sherlock. I love feeling your lips on mine."

He slid upwards, placing his lips against hers once more, letting his hands do the wandering instead, as he continued to kiss her with long, lingering, open-mouthed kisses that affected her more than anything else.

Then she arched towards him in a mute entreaty, indicating she wanted more than just kisses. His mouth left hers only long enough so he could divest them both of the rest of their clothes.

And he was kissing her again, even as they allowed the flames of passion to overwhelm them. Their lips were always the fuel for their desire. Then kisses turned to murmurs and whispers of love as two became one.

Sometime later, when their breathing was returning to normal and bodies were cooling, Sherlock asked his wife, as she lay in his arms, "Now are you ready for me to tell you about these other two scenarios?"

Instead of answering in the affirmative, Molly moved away from his encircling warmth.

He pouted, until she said. "I need the loo. Just be glad this time I didn't stop you just when things were getting...heated." She grinned at him and he rolled his eyes.

Molly certainly had a habit of needing the loo at the most inconvenient of times. "Hurry back, love. I'm cold without you." He was treated to the sight of a very naked, very shapely wife hurrying into the bathroom. She wasn't long and, as soon as she returned, slid under the covers. Sherlock joined her, holding her close from behind.

"Are you ready NOW?" he queried, trying not to sound impatient.

"Yes Sherlock," she murmured drowsily.

He nudged her. "Do you want to sleep now, instead?"

"Mmmm? What was that?"

Sherlock gave up. "Just sleep, love. We'll talk later."

"Okay." Within minutes, his wife was fast asleep.

 ** _Oh well,_** he thought. **_It's my fault for making her tired. Come to think of it, I'm rather tired myself._** He closed his eyes and slept too.

A couple hours later, Sherlock woke. Molly was still tucked securely against him and he always loved being close to her. He could smell the scent from her shampoo; the body wash that often scented her skin; her own unique scent that attracted him. Five and a half months of marriage and she still drove him as wild as when he had first realized he loved her, when his emotions had been restored after the events at Sherrinford.

Sherlock kissed Molly's hair. His hand was resting gently on her abdomen, and from time to time he felt slight movement. It was another thing that had delighted him over the past three and a half weeks. No matter how many times he was fortunate enough to feel that tiny flutter, it was still a miracle. He, Sherlock Holmes, formerly married to his work, was going to be a father in about three and a half months time. It was an exciting, yet terrifying prospect.

Molly finally stirred, interrupting his internal monologue. She shifted onto her back and looked at him, smiling. "I love waking up in your arms."

"I love having you there too." He smiled fondly at her. "Now you are rested, do you want to hear my scenario ideas or not?"

"Yes." She reached up and stroked his cheek. "You said it was the same day as the one we did two days ago. So what's the story?"

"It was when you first came to the flat."

"Okay. I know we had our wires crossed. You wanted to solve crimes, and I thought maybe you wanted to have dinner. That's not really a re-creation scenario that would be fun to re-write. I mean, so yeah we can just have dinner. Hardly necessary for a new memory."

"But what if I told you 'have dinner' could have an entirely different meaning?"

He could see the confusion in Molly's eyes.

"Okay," he said patiently, "hear me out. Back in the old days, when Irene Adler was constantly texting me..." He felt Molly stiffen against him.

"You know I can't stand that woman for what she tried to do to you."

"I know, but please just listen to me." He leaned into Molly, giving her a gentle kiss, and she relaxed. "The point is, one of her things was, she would always say stuff, then add 'let's have dinner.' I only ever responded in the negative. I knew what she meant by 'dinner.'"

"And you think she was asking you for sex?"

Sherlock snorted. "Of course she was. She wanted me, you know that."

"I might despise her, but I can understand her wanting you. I'd be pretty hypocritical to not understand the attraction, wouldn't I?"

He nuzzled, then kissed Molly's neck. "You know you've always been the only one for me."

She smiled. "I'm still not sure how you want to re-create that into a scenario. Do you want us to stand, look at each other, and then agree to have dinner instead, but have a different kind of dinner?"

"Yes." Finally she understood.

"Well, that's a pretty short scene. So we can do that whenever you want. I'll wear the clothes and you'll be in your dressing gown and we'll have dinner. All good."

Sherlock smiled to himself. **_She had no idea what was in store._**

"So, what's the second one?"

"Well, this was a non verbal one. We'd have to make up a whole conversation later."

"You're confusing me, honey."

"You'll understand when I explain. Remember the piece I played at John's wedding, and how I threw my boutonnière?"

"I remember. You told me when we were engaged that you really wanted to throw it to me, but didn't, out of respect for my engagement."

"Correct. I thought maybe we could re-create it, pretend you were free at the time, and hold a conversation about...us."

"Oh, I think we can work with that," she responded with a grin. "When do you want to do those? You know of course I can't wear that dress in my current state."

Sherlock chuckled. "We'll just have to find a pretty maternity dress for you and buy that first."'

"That could be awkward. You throwing a boutonnière to a pregnant woman."

"We'll pretend you aren't pregnant." He rubbed Molly's belly gently. "Sorry, Victoria. Mummy and I love you. We're just going to play pretend."

Molly giggled. "Well, we need preparation for that one, a dress and a boutonnière. When do you want to do the other one?"

"I should be up for it tonight."

"Are you trying to make a dirty joke?"

"No, my love. I did not put emphasis on the word **up**." He shook his head. "You are the one with the dirty mind, my angel."

Molly blushed, then smirked. "Nope, just your naughty little angel."

 ** _Oh yes, you are naughty,_** he thought, **_but I can be naughty too. Wait till tonight._** He smirked back at his unsuspecting wife.

* * *

 **Author's note:** What does our naughty Sherlock have in mind? Make your deductions, folks!

Updated for errors and better flow 6/23/18.


	2. Would You Like to Have Dinner?

That evening, Molly couldn't help feeling a tingle of anticipation about the scenario ahead. Really, it wasn't much of one to work with, but well, the last one had been so special when Sherlock had proposed again to her. How many women could say their man had proposed to them twice?

She carefully put on the same jumper she had worn a few days before, the one from that day. It was rather fortunate the jumper was quite old and stretched out after many washings, because it still fit over her belly, just barely. Well, it was a little bit short now. She put on the same black jacket, the red and black scarf and her red gloves. Her hair was already up in its ponytail.

 ** _Should I take off my rings?_** she wondered, then decided against it. This little scene didn't require her to be ringless.

Sherlock entered the room. "I hope you remembered to use the loo first," he said and she blushed.

"Yes I did, so we have maybe an hour and a half before I have to go again. We should really keep conversation to a minimum."

"Oh, I intend to," he drawled, as he strode towards her and gave her a quick, hard kiss. Her traitorous heart gave a great thump.

"My turn to get dressed," he told her. "Off you go." He gave her bum a little swat and she scurried out.

"By the way," he called, "this one starts with me looking out the window when you come in, so you have to enter from the front door."

Molly huffed a bit at that. Why did she have to go outside the flat? _Oh well, he has indulged my little fantasies, I suppose I can afford him the same courtesy._ She did not intend to exit the flat though until he was ready.

"Let me know when you are ready and I will go out of the flat and count to thirty."

"Sounds good," came back the reply.

Molly perched on the sofa and waited. He was taking an awfully long time.

After what seemed an age, Sherlock's voice called, "I'm ready. You can go outside now."

Molly obediently followed his request and went out onto the landing. She shut the door quietly and looked down the stairs. Fortunately there was no sign of Mrs. Hudson.

She counted slowly to thirty, then opened the door to the flat and stepped inside, closing the door behind her.

Sure enough, Sherlock was standing at the window, staring outside.

"You wanted to see me?" she asked.

He turned, and she could see he was wearing his favourite maroon dressing gown, with the belt securely tied around him. His legs were bare which was rather odd, but she didn't have time to think about that as he answered, "Yes. Molly.." and took a step toward her.

"Yes?" she asked.

"Would you.." he took another step and repeated, "Would you like to solve crimes?"

"Have dinner?" she timed hers perfectly with his last two words.

Of course, that was where the scenario needed to change, as initially she had tried to cover her embarrassment and pretend she had not said those words.

This time Sherlock kept advancing towards her. "Hmm, you want to have dinner? I think I like that idea a lot better." Reaching his hands to cup her face, he gave her a heart-stopping kiss that left her breathless almost immediately, it was so raw, so primal with need.

Sherlock released her and unwound her scarf from her neck, which was a good thing. She was already feeling uncomfortably hot. Then he drew off her gloves, followed by her jacket.

"Molly," he said in a deep voice that made her tremble with need, "undress me."

With trembling fingers, she didn't know why they were trembling all of a sudden, she untied the knot of his dressing gown belt and released it, then reached up to slide it from his shoulders.

Then she drew in her breath and held it. Sherlock, unlike any other time when he wore his dressing gown over his clothes for some incomprehensible reason, was completely naked. She felt her face burn. **_He isn't even wearing his boxers,_** she thought a little dizzily. She wasn't sure why this was so incredibly erotic to her, but there it was. She forced herself to expel her breath.

He stood there, supremely male and sure of himself. "Do you like what you see...Molly?" He caressed the two syllables of her name, and she had an urge to fan her hands in front of her face. He was so absurdly hot.

"Yes," she whispered, quite mesmerized by all that masculine flesh. She didn't get to observe it for too long, because he stepped close to her and whispered in her ear, "You look like you've never seen a man naked before."

She gulped. "With all due respect. If this w...was back then, that w...would have been a true observation, unless you counted corpses," she managed to stammer. **_Lord, how he affects me, even more than usual due to the situation._** She couldn't remember Sherlock being the one who was completely unclothed, while she was still dressed.

"Tell me what you want, Molly," he demanded, sliding his hands caressingly up under her blouse and jumper, then kissing her neck, exposed as it was with her hair pulled back.

"Y..you," she could barely get the words out. She didn't know if it was these little scenarios from their past that got her so hot and bothered, but she knew her heart was beating fast, and she could not seem to catch her breath.

He picked her up in his strong arms and carried her into their bedroom, depositing her gently on the bed, then joining her, casually laying next to her in his nude state, waiting.

Molly faced him and ran a hand along his chest, feeling his pectorals, the fine growth of hair in between. He shuddered slightly, and his breath hitched. She touched his scar from the bullet, marvelling anew at the miraculous way he had survived, especially after his heart had stopped on the operating room table. Leaning down, she kissed the scar, then his chest, and she felt his breathing become more erratic.

There was a certain sense of power that came from being the one who was still clothed. The fact that he was able to be so vulnerable with her, so willing to let her lead, was an intoxication. It was like their first time, but in reverse. On their wedding night it had been he who took the initiative. Despite the fact they had both been virgins, he had instinctively known what to do, how to explore those previously forbidden areas and it had been wonderful, perfect.

Now, five and a half months later, it was even more incredible. Just as their love for one another grew each day, so did their knowledge of each other's bodies. She knew the way he trembled when she touched his chest. He knew the way she melted every time he massaged her shoulders and back, or caressed her breasts. These simple intimacies meant as much as the actual act of love itself. It was part of the whole package.

She lifted her head back to meet his hooded gaze. _Oh, how those glances of his still make my stomach clench._ Even though he was giving her the power to do as she wished, his eyes were telling her he could only wait so long before he reasserted control.

So Molly kissed him, pouring her breath into him, and taking his for herself. Tongues mingled, then separated because it was their lips that tingled from the kissing, always the lips, fitting together as if they were made for one another's kiss, which they were.

Then it was time, time to take it to the next level. "Undress me," whispered Molly in a subconscious echo of her husband's earlier words, and Sherlock complied.

Molly sat so he could pull off her jumper and blouse, then her bra. He palmed her breasts, his thumbs moving in circles around and over their rosy peaks, eliciting a gasp of pleasure from her. He slid his hands downwards to remove her remaining clothes, then cupped her bottom to pull her as close to him as possible, without pressing against her taut belly.

"God knows I tell you this all the time, but you are so beautiful Molly, my Molly, my darling, my angel, my beloved, my sweet, my heart." He feathered little kisses all over her face, punctuating each endearment with a kiss to a different part, her eyelids, her forehead, her cheeks, the sides of her mouth, finally capturing her lips again with his own.

She gloried in the knowledge the he was hers and she was his. And when kissing was not enough anymore, and their bodies cried out for each other, they joined as one, climbing together to the wings of ecstasy that can only have come from God. It was a gift, and it was theirs to share together.

Afterwards, as their heated bodies relaxed and heartbeats returned to normal, Sherlock pressed his forehead to hers. "What did you think of your dinner? Was it worth doing that simple scenario for this?"

Molly wound her arms around him and kissed him gently. "Every scenario with you is beautiful. I know it sounds silly, but every time we make a new memory, it pushes away the shadow of hurt or sadness from the earlier one."

"I know what you mean, my love," he said. "It gives us a chance to express what was truly in our hearts, what was truly in _my_ heart, before I was aware of it. You , of course knew your feelings towards me. It makes me happy, no, it brings me joy to do this for you, to re-examine things from our past, now that I understand the emotion I tried so hard to protect myself from."

Molly leaned her head on Sherlock's shoulder, feeling his warmth. "You've brought me indescribable joy, Sherlock. I wouldn't trade places with anyone. I wouldn't wish things any differently, not really, because everything we have been through has shaped us into the people we are now."

She lifted her head to meet his blue-green gaze, then her expression changed and she abruptly sat up.

"Where are you going?" he asked, looking highly offended. "I thought we were having a moment."

"We were," she answered, then grinned. "But it has been two whole hours since I've been to the loo, and my bladder does not care about moments."

She hopped off the bed and dashed to the bathroom, while Sherlock chuckled.

When she returned, the covers were down on the bed and Sherlock was already situated. She climbed into bed and scooted next to him after he drew the covers over them.

They spooned together, his arm protectively covering her abdomen, rather than her breast as it usually did, because her girth made that a little awkward now.

Molly made a little sigh of contentment as she felt the baby moving within her, and slept.

* * *

 **Author's note:** I really enjoy writing out my little scenarios. Do you like my little running joke about Molly needing the loo a lot? Believe me, it's a real thing!

If you enjoy reading my work, consider leaving feedback. It is my only compensation for this, and I experience such happiness when someone feels my work is worthy of leaving feedback.

I welcome suggestions as well for future writing projects. If you give me an idea, and I use it, I will give you the credit for it :)

Updated for errors and better flow 6/23/18. Tiny revisions 6/4/19.


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